


And then I'd say to you: We could take to the highway with this trunk of ammunition, too

by Xenomorphic



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mad Max Fusion, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Drabble/Ficlet, Gen, Huddling For Warmth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:15:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28163043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenomorphic/pseuds/Xenomorphic
Summary: There’s an odd kind of intimacy in this, this closeness, and this touch, and this hushed speaking, even this place.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Cobb Vanth
Kudos: 15





	And then I'd say to you: We could take to the highway with this trunk of ammunition, too

**Author's Note:**

> Star Wars, Mad Max and MCR, three of my favorite things in the world brought together by sheer dumbf*ckery (even if the Mad Max is barely there, really). Can be read as pre-romance or as platonic, interpret away.  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing Star Wars (or Mad Max, for that matter), save for all my notebooks and books, I suppose.  
> Title is from Demolition Lovers, by My Chemical Romance.

He finds it impressive, truly, the way Din can give off such feelings of anxiety and discomfort without so much as a twitch, with his whole self covered in layers and armor like that. Or perhaps he’s just projecting.

“How’re you doin’ there, partner?”

Din only gives him a soft hum from the shadows at the other side of the room. He sits up from his sprawl every few minutes to take a look through the window. Window being a rather generous denomination, since there is no glass and no frame, and the concrete edge is crumbling under the weight of Din’s shoulder, a little bit more every time he leans against it.

It’s been like this since they found this derelict ghost town, nothing but a couple of rows of empty, sanded down, single-floor buildings, what would’ve been the living are of this particular house currently housing their car; it’s been like this since even before that, the frantic and adrenaline distorted two, three hours after Din had managed to shoot the pilot of the last Hutt scout vehicle trailing behind them, Cobb watching the car move erratically until it veered to the left of the road and down a slope through the sole rearview mirror left in their own car. He had kept his eyes exclusively focused on the road ahead from then on, and he had trusted Din when he’d said that they were no longer being followed.

It’s been like this: Cobb asks a question or makes some half-hearted jest, and Din responds with a monosyllable or some barely there sound. The most he’s gotten out of the man so far has been a breathless huff of laughter after Cobb had made a comment on the car’s engine.

Cobb may not be particularly close to the other man, but he does know him well enough to not take his near unresponsiveness to heart. If he’s honest, which he often is, he feels it too, that antsy sort of tickle in the back of his head and the marrow of his bones: he wants to get back to the rest of the group as soon as possible, too.

But they’re old – or, rather, _he is_ , he supposes –, and they need the rest after that run in with the Hutt scouts, and they may not have the supplies to keep themselves top notch for more than a couple of days without it…

He understands, is what matters.

Cobb sort of curls in on himself on his own corner, trying to make himself somewhat comfortable while minding his bruised ribs, and well aware of how cold the night will get. Even so, he wakes up after what feels like seconds later, but must have been a good two hours, with his whole body screaming at him in pain and stiffness, and Din leaning over him, his masked face about a feet from Cobb’s while one of his hands is gripping the taller’s forearm in an aborted shaking motion.

“What is it?”

He goes from drowsy and half-numb to alert in a hot second, but Din simply raises his other hand in an appeasing sort of gesture.

“It’s nothing, I –,” he stops himself with a ragged breath and Cobb can feel the little nervous tremors that go through the other scout’s hand and fingers. “You were having a nightmare, I think.”

There’s an odd kind of intimacy in this, this closeness, and this touch, and this hushed speaking, even this place. It feels like they’re in the brink of something, but then he releases the breath he’d held for a moment and all his nerve ends and muscles give up on him, falling back into a heap against the walls behind and beside him. Din still has his hand on Cobb’s arm, an anchor, although _for who_ , he’s not sure.

“I didn’t mean to alarm you,” Din apologizes, still in that anxious whisper.

Cobb waves a hand around.

“Don’t get worked up ‘bout that, partner. You meant nothin’ bad,” he closes his eyes and huffs a long sigh. “Anythin’ worth mentionin’?”

Din’s negative sounds more steady, confident and he finally let’s go. Cobb doesn’t have the time to miss his touch before he feels the harsh friction of Din’s armor rubbing off on his side. He opens his eyes to see the other man leaning against the wall right next to him and then grab for his cape; it’s a somewhat flimsy piece of cloth, with part of its lower edge singed, but it’s large enough to drape atop both their legs and it provides just that extra layer against the biting cold.

“Thanks.”

Din hums and it truly is uncanny how he tilts his head just a tad to his side and how that’s all Cobb needs to know that the other is staring at him. He wonders, what sort of stare is it? Is it brazen scrutiny, or soft regard? Is he staring at his face, or his body, or some very specific spot that’s caught his attention?

“Lean on me all you want,” was not something Cobb had ever expected to hear from Din Djarin, stoic extraordinaire. “I don’t mind the discomfort or staying awake, if you drive tomorrow too.”

Cobb raises a playful eyebrow at him, probably lost in the darkness.

“So, you don’t mind me sappin’ all your body-warmth?”

“Not at all.”

Somehow, he knows Din is smiling under his green and red mask.


End file.
